


The Breaking Point

by shadow_djinni



Series: All The Stars Aligned [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Backstory, Cuddling & Snuggling, Galra Empire, Gen, Mild Violence in Second Chapter, Sendak Has PTSD, The One Where They Go In Begrudging Coworkers And Come Out Friends, Twoshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-16 03:50:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12334923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_djinni/pseuds/shadow_djinni
Summary: Sendak and Haxus are assigned a mission as a pair. Both dread it, but what started as just a job has the potential to alter both of their futures.





	1. Bend What Does Not Break

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, more backstory. I've got thirty pages of rough draft I'm working through and posting as short stories instead of one longer one. The other half of this should be up tomorrow or Friday, whenever I have time.

It’s official: one of the gods has it out for Haxus.  

His commander has assigned him a pair’s mission to one of the planets in their sector.  It’s small, lacks native sentients, and the only inhabitants are a cabal of druids running a quintessence refinery on the largest continent.  There’s a station on the opposite side of the globe, though, for monitoring traffic through the star system, and that’s where the trouble is.  It stopped transmitting almost two movements previous, and  _ someone _ has to go down and repair it.  Haxus is, of course, the obvious choice.  That part of the mission doesn’t faze him.

Nope, the part he’s worried about is the other half of the pair: Sendak.

He’s learned a  _ lot _ about the oblate over the last four movements.  Well, as much as one can learn about a person who rarely speaks and avoids social interaction like everyone else onboard has the plague.  Sendak dodges glances, eats alone, hides in his quarters whenever he’s not running a shift or training.  But from his limited observations, Haxus has learned two very important things.  Firstly, that Sendak is strong enough to break limbs with ease.  Their commander has to order other soldiers to spar with him, because the whole crew is  _ terrified _ he’ll hurt them during a match--not that he has, just that his demeanor suggests that he might.  And, secondly--and possibly more importantly--that Sendak is, in fact, capable of ripping out throats with his teeth, has done it before, and there’s a betting pool on how soon he’ll do it again.  The pot is up to almost a cycle’s pay now between the six non-officers onboard.

So, in short, Sendak is the  _ worst _ possible person to be left alone with.  Which is undoubtedly why the commander assigned them a pair’s mission.  Of course, he provided a reasonable alibi: this planet has notably dangerous predators on it, and Haxus may very well need the extra muscle someone like Sendak, who can crush skulls with his thighs, would provide.

Not that Haxus has fantasized about it, or anything, but he can’t get one of the takedowns Sendak performed on the training deck out of his head--the way he’d wrapped his legs around the drone’s neck and wrenched it to the floor had certainly been  _ something _ .  Haxus hadn’t been sure if he was frightened or aroused.  He prefers to think he’d been frightened.

Better not to dwell on it.  It’s only three quintants.  He can’t  _ possibly _ piss Sendak off enough to get killed in that short a timeframe.

He reclines against the wall of the orbit-to-ground shuttle and avoids looking at the pilot’s seat.  Sendak’s repertoire apparently includes flying all sorts of small craft, and he’s very good at it, as far as Haxus can tell.  He sets them down lightly in the landing zone, without even a bump.  Haxus appreciates it almost as much as he appreciates Sendak’s continued silence--aside from a nodded greeting when they’d met in the pod bay, they haven’t particularly acknowledged each other’s presence.  It’s just a job.

Haxus would be lying if he said the silence wasn’t a relief.

The moment it’s safe, Haxus opens the pod doors and hurries out, pulling up the map on the microcomputer in his right bracer.  The station is almost thirty kliks north of the landing zone, and laden with supplies and gear, it will take almost the ten remaining vargas between now and sunset for them to reach it--at which point the jungle canopy will block out most of the dim starlight and make working without artificial light impossible.  And since Haxus doesn’t know  _ what _ is wrong with the station yet, they’ll be spending the first night in near-total darkness.  Joy. At least the thick canopy blocks the worst of the sunlight while they’re traveling.

Sendak emerges from the shuttle, carrying most of their gear.  “You have our bearing?” he asks, his voice rough and throaty.  

“Yes,” Haxus replies tersely.  He scoops up his own pack and sets off without another word.

* * *

 

 

Sendak couldn’t remember another time when he’d been so unbearably hot.  Even  _ with _ cloud- and tree-cover, he was baking inside his armor.  The air caught in his throat like shed fur, choking him, and he panted for breath and to disperse his body heat.  His palm-pads were already slick with sweat.  He surreptitiously wiped them on the thighs of his undersuit and prayed Haxus wouldn’t choose that moment to look back.

He didn’t, of course.  The runty bastard didn’t even  _ acknowledge _ him.  Sendak was  _ trying _ to be agreeable, void take it--he wouldn’t have greeted Haxus otherwise.   _ Typical civilian recruits.  Thinking they’re superior, just because-- _

He choked the thought down.  At any rate, Haxus  _ was _ his superior.  Even though he wasn’t an officer, as a specialist Haxus was, effectively, the commanding officer on this mission.  The thought rankled.  Sendak had been a soldier in the field for just over ten cycles, and yet some wet-behind-the-ears  _ civilian _ was in charge.  He wanted to break something.  A tree.  Equipment.  An alien.  Haxus’s smug, too-good-for-you face.  He tamped the urge down.

_ No fighting your crewmates.  Don’t blow this for yourself, like always.  You can do better. _

Without looking over his shoulder, Haxus called a rest and immediately sat down, ignoring Sendak.  The urge to clock him doubled instantly.  Evidently, nobody had told Haxus he was supposed to, you know,  _ check on the soldiers under his command to make sure they could cope in conditions _ .  Or check the environment for hazards.  Sendak eyed the impenetrable vegetation warily, then settled himself down on the trail and tugged at the collar of his uniform.  There was no way to cool off.  He pulled a hydration pouch from his pack and guzzled the contents, trying to ignore the stale taste.

And then he caught Haxus staring at him.  Sendak lifted a shoulder defensively and eyed him back.

“Can you handle this?” Haxus asked.  Anger surged like a solar flare, and Sendak clenched a fist to keep it from spilling over.  So now that his  _ own _ needs were taken care of, Haxus was going to bother checking on someone else?  He was  _ just _ like the others.  Plytox and company could keep him.

“I’m no  _ weakling _ ,” he snarled, curling his upper lip.

Emotion flashed across Haxus’s face.  It was too fast for Sendak to grasp, but the tilt of his ears suggested hurt.  “Suit yourself,” Haxus muttered.  He looked away, down the trail.

Sendak let his head hang for a tick or two.  The anger had died, leaving a burned-out hollow in his chest.  He ignored it.  He couldn’t be weak.   _ Better to cut it off than let it spread. _  Apparently, he still had weaknesses to prune.

Haxus stood up without warning, slung his pack back onto his shoulders, and started off.  Sendak scrambled to his feet, grabbing his own pack and hurrying to catch up.   _ Asshole.  Not even bothering to  _ warn _ you he was ready to start again! _  The anger was back, roaring in his ears with his heartbeat, but it didn’t take long to burn out again.  

The heat settled in like slow poison, creeping through his veins, filling his lungs, clouding his head.  He did his best to ignore it, to focus on putting one foot in front of the other.  His shoulders ached under the weight of the pack.  The dense air fought him when he breathed it in, and it fought again when he exhaled.  Sendak had always been afraid of drowning.  He’d never realized he could do it on dry land.

Haxus seemed totally unbothered by it, and if Sendak could have mustered the focus or energy, he would have been angry or jealous or both.

They stopped twice more.  It didn’t help.  At the last stop Haxus tried to talk to him, but Sendak’s brain had stopped processing words at that point and he’d stared blankly until the smaller Galra gave up.  He looked frustrated, and some small part of Sendak felt guilty.  More of him was fearful, though--most times people gave him that look, they followed it up with a beating.

Sendak completely blanked the last five kliks of the trek, and, when he came back to himself, they were inside the station.  He was sprawled out on his back, his armor had been removed, and someone had placed cold packs over his forehead, around his neck, over his groin--standard basic training heatstroke protocol.  His head ached fiercely, and his legs and shoulders throbbed.  He tilted his head, letting the cold pack slide off onto the floor, and sat up slowly.

“Well, look who decided to rejoin the living,” Haxus said, somewhere behind him.  

Sendak flinched and spun towards him--and almost crumpled as a spike of pain drove into the base of his skull.  By the time his vision cleared, Haxus was crouched in front of him, wearing a look of concern.  He offered a hydration pouch.  Sendak accepted it silently and sipped at the contents, eyeing Haxus warily.

He finished the pouch and set it aside.  “...What happened?” he asked, ignoring the way his voice rasped.

“You collapsed,” Haxus replied.  “I had to  _ drag _ you inside.”

He didn’t look pleased, and Sendak stiffened his shoulders to keep from shrinking away.  He looked down instead, and Haxus growled at him.  Sendak snapped his head back up .

“Why didn’t you bother telling me how the heat was affecting you?” he demanded.

Sendak flattened his ears.  “Didn’t think you cared.”

“I don’t, but if you die on me out here I have to do  _ paperwork _ ,” Haxus shot back.  “And, quite frankly, I would rather deal with you than figure out what to do with your body.”

Sendak curled his lip and looked away.  Something about that statement hurt, but he wasn’t sure what.   _ Paperwork?  That was all your life is worth, isn’t it?  The only thing keeping you alive is that your death would be  _ inconvenient  _ to Haxus. _

“And I suppose you expect me to be grateful,” he growled.

Haxus shrugged.  “It would be appreciated--no, don’t get up.  You lay back down.  I’ll get you another pouch.  If you’re up to eating, there will be food later.”  And then he reached out and grabbed Sendak’s shoulder.  Just a hint of pressure was enough to force him back to the ground, and then Haxus settled the cold packs back into place.

And then, almost as an afterthought, Haxus ran a hand lightly over Sendak’s crest and scratched behind his ears.  It was a fleeting touch, no more than a tick or two, and then he was gone.  Sendak stared after him, stunned.  He couldn’t remember anyone touching him like that--couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him outside of a sparring match.  He wanted to hide.  He wanted Haxus to do it again.

* * *

 

The second he’s out of Sendak’s view, Haxus buries his face in his hands.   _ Why _ did he do that?  Sendak isn’t one of his younger siblings, he isn’t a friend, he's barely an acquaintance, and he  _ certainly _ hadn’t been seeking comfort--if anything, he’d been actively pulling away from Haxus.  He hadn’t invited touch, hadn’t seemed to want it, and yet...and yet Haxus hadn’t been able to stop himself.

It was, he decides, probably a product of the situation.  Haxus was already inclined to sympathy--watching someone collapse and then whimper like a hurt cub when you turn them over to check on them will do that to you--and Sendak is still, obviously, not all there even now.

With any luck, he won’t remember it tomorrow, and Haxus can forget about it as well.


	2. Words, Hands, Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that took longer than I expected. It's also twice as long as I expected.

It was darker than the inside of a Weblum when the first screech sounded.  Sendak was wide awake before it even finished, snapping upright and looking around for the source of the sound.  The inside of the station was almost totally dark, save for the glow of some of the machinery and the heat Haxus put off, which lit him and the area immediately around him with a dim red light.  Haxus, apparently, had slept through the noise--he was sprawled out on his back, eyes roving under their lids, limbs totally slack.  Sendak exhaled softly and stood.  No point to waking him.  If there was trouble, he could handle it himself.  If there wasn’t, well, Haxus could probably _use_ the extra varga of sleep.  Sendak slept poorly most nights.  He wouldn’t miss the time spent patrolling.

He’d been sleeping nude--it was too warm for the undersuit, really, with how hot he usually slept--but he pulled it on and grabbed his blaster, then padded outside to check the perimeter.  The gravelly dirt around the building crunched softly under his bare feet.  He stopped, adjusted his stance, and moved on more quietly, peering around.  What dim starlight filtered through the canopy was _just_ enough to see by.  His ears twitched and swiveled, alert to the softest sounds.

Nothing.

“False alarm,” he whispered to the darkness.

That was, of course, when the second screech rent the air.  Sendak’s grip on the blaster tightened.  A third one began when the second let off, and he spun, trying to pinpoint the sound.  It was on his side of the building, farther off in the jungle.  Impossible to tell _how_ far off, but it certainly wasn’t close.  He relaxed a little.  Whatever it was probably couldn’t breach the station anyway, even if it _was_ close enough to attack.  

That was perfectly fine with Sendak.  He was a poor shot, and the blaster would have done him very little good until the target was close enough that he couldn’t _possibly_ miss.  Losing an eye had damaged his depth perception, and while he’d learned to compensate for it in hand-to-hand combat, his accuracy with ranged weaponry stayed...inadequate.

Haxus was awake when he reentered the building, bright gold eyes reflecting what little light there was in the space.  “What happened?” he asked sleepily.

“Noise,” Sendak said flatly, stripped out of his suit, and lay back down, curling up on himself again.

The thing in the jungle screeched again, farther away, just at the edge of Sendak’s hearing.  At a distance it lost the raspy, almost metallic qualities that made it a proper screech, sounding nearly Galra in pitch and tone.

It was a long time after the last cry faded before sleep reclaimed him.

* * *

 

Haxus wakes when the first beam of light filters through the dark glass in the windows.  He sits up slowly, wincing at the stiffness of his muscles.  The bunks shipside are hard, but a floor is harder, and Haxus isn’t used to it.  He stretches, arching his back and reaching for the ceiling.

Sendak is already awake, of course--the doors are open and he’s seated just outside the pool of early-morning sunlight coming through it.  Haxus’s ears catch the rasp of metal on metal.  Sendak’s sharpening a knife.  Of course he is.  He’s apparently recovered from yesterday’s near death-by-heatstroke, if he’s awake and being creepy with knives.

Haxus stands.  The noise is enough to grab Sendak’s attention, because his ears twitch towards Haxus and he hums a greeting.  Friendlier than usual.  Haxus hums back and pads over to the packs to scrounge a quick breakfast.  He has a lot of work to do to get the transmitter back online, and he’d rather do it before the sun gets too bright.

He isn’t quite fast enough.  The diagnostic he ran on the main control panel--which worked, thank Zhulrok--turned up serious electrical damage to the transmission spire.  Haxus would bet on a lightning strike.  It’s nothing he can’t fix, but the sun rises faster than he expected and drives him from the outside of the spire before he can finish.  He brings what he can back inside to work on, but finds himself...well.  Distracted.  By Sendak.  Haxus can’t stop thinking about the previous night, about the way Sendak’s fur felt under his hands and the _look_ on Sendak’s face when Haxus had touched him.  It would be less distracting if Sendak were still and quiet, but the big Galra paces like he intends to wear a hole in the floor.

Sometime around noon, Sendak clears his throat.  “I’m going to secure the perimeter,” he says quietly.  His voice sounds less hoarse to Haxus’s ears, still low and throaty--smoky, really--but less like he’s speaking with vocal cords crusted with rocks.

“Alright.  Come back in one piece,” Haxus says.

Sendak chuffs--actually chuffs, not a derisive snort--and slips out the door.  And Haxus, miraculously, finds himself able to focus again.

He’s _so_ intent on the work that it takes him two full vargas to realize Sendak hasn’t returned.

His first thought--brief, cruel, condemnable--is that whatever the creature screeching in the jungle the previous night was, it’s eaten Sendak.  He dismisses it immediately.  Unlikely.  Sendak is undoubtedly capable of taking it on.  It’s much more probable that Sendak got distracted, or managed to get himself injured again, or forgot to take a hydration pouch along and collapsed somewhere from the heat.

Haxus is tempted, just for a tick or two, to leave him to his fate.  He could do it so _easily_ , get Sendak out of his fur and out of his head in one fell swoop, but the moment it crosses his mind he knows he isn’t capable of it.  It’s too cruel, especially with the memory of Sendak’s unconscious, vulnerable face still vivid in his mind.  He sighs, sets his tools aside, and exits the station, following Sendak’s scent trail.

The trail doesn’t stick to the perimeter very long--a third of the route, maybe less--before it veers off into the jungle.  Haxus pauses at the point where the perimeter and Sendak’s path diverge, scenting the air, studying the environment.  No blood.  No broken branches.  Sendak must have chosen this route, then, but Haxus can’t fathom why.  He sighs and follows the trail, all senses on alert.

And finds nothing.  The trail keeps going deeper into the jungle, farther and farther from the station.  What could Sendak _possibly_ be up to, all the way out here?  Haxus suspects he took off to blow off steam--there isn’t much for Sendak to _do_ at the station, and from his limited observations Sendak is most comfortable when he’s in motion.  But why would he go so _far_?  It’s tempting to just head back to the station and get back to work, let Sendak come back on his own time.

And then, from not far off, there’s the sound of branches crashing.  Something big smashes through the undergrowth, getting closer.  Impossibly fast.

For a moment, Haxus thinks it might be Sendak.

And then he’s airborne, the world spinning around him.  His back slams into a tree, knocks the breath out of him.  He hits the ground hard.  Gasps.  For a tick or two his lungs refuse to work.  And then he can breathe again.  He shakes his head, trying to clear his vision.  The massive, bright shape looming over him comes into focus.

It’s the screeching creature from last night.  Has to be.  Haxus’s muscles lock up with fear, but his brain keeps whirring.  It’s twice his height, bipedal, avianoid.  Bright blue-and-green plumage.  Hooked beak for tearing.  It opens its mouth and shrieks, and there’s a row of serrated teeth inside the beak.

He rolls aside, narrowly avoiding a taloned, bludgeoning foot.  The other foot follows, kicks at his head.  He dodges again, trying to reclaim his feet.  The beak misses him by a hair’s breadth.  He can’t get to his blaster.  His knife is back at the station.  Useless.  He needs help.  He needs _Sendak_.

Haxus sucks in a deep breath and screams as loudly as he can.

The alien screeches back at him, and Haxus scrambles to avoid it.  And that’s when the wings catch him, smacking him back to the ground.  Talons.  Too close.  Haxus rolls.  They catch him anyway, the longest claw raking across his forehead.  He barely feels it, too amped up on fear and adrenaline.  He gets just enough breath for another scream and lets loose, scrambling to his feet.  It doesn’t last long--a talon smashes into the side of his breastplate and sends him tumbling.  He’s going to die.  This alien is going to kill him and eat him.

And that’s when a large, dark shape hurtles directly over his head and smashes into the screecher.

* * *

 

Sendak very nearly mistook the scream for another of the screechers.  He’d narrowly escaped a whole _pack_ of them, lost his blaster, cracked his breastplate.  The hilt of his knife felt welded to his hand--whether by his grip or by drying blood, he couldn’t tell.  But the _tone_ of the cry was wrong, not raspy or metallic.   _That_ was a Galra voice.

There was only one person on the continent who could make that noise.

_Haxus.  Frex.  Shouldn’t have left._

Haxus screamed again, and Sendak whirled in the direction of the noise and sprinted towards it.  Branches whipped at his face and tore at his uniform, tried to tangle his legs.  He ignored them, ignored everything but the sounds of struggle in the trees up ahead.  The alien came into view.  He couldn’t see Haxus.

 _Gods,_ please _let me be in time!_

He smashed into the alien with his still-armored shoulder, knocking it off-balance.  It stumbled and reared back, shrieking, and Sendak roared back.  No words.  No point to them.  He ducked a slash with the beak and closed the distance, slashing with his knife.  It bit into flesh and stuck.  He couldn’t wrench it free.  And it wasn’t deep enough.

Talons clawed futilely at his armor.  He ignored it and sank his claws into the alien, ripping and tearing at anything he could reach.  The beak shot past his head, a hand’s width away.   _It_ had a bad angle.   _He_ didn’t.  He bit down hard on the long neck, jerked his head back.  Muscles flexed under his teeth.  Hot, sour blood filled his mouth.  He ignored and yanked again.  Kicked, braced his feet against its chest.

And then his mouthful came free.  He spat, scrambled back to brace for the next attack.

It never came.  The screecher heaved, cycled its legs a few times, and went limp.  Dead.  Threat eliminated.  He stooped and grabbed his knife, ripping it free and looking around for Haxus.

And there he was, hunched at the base of a tree.  He’d gone ashen under his fur, staring at Sendak with wide, terrified eyes and flattened ears.  A gash on his forehead oozed blood down one side of his face, but Sendak couldn’t see any other injuries on him.  

He hurried over and pulled Haxus to his feet.  “Are you alright?”   _Stupid, stupid!  Of course he isn’t, and it’s_ your _fault, as usual!_

“I--I’m fine,” Haxus stammered.  “Where--”

“We need to go,” Sendak said, cutting him off.  He could already hear movement in the undergrowth.  More of them were coming.

Haxus was shaking.  Sendak doubted, somehow, that he was going to be able to run.  He wrapped an arm around Haxus’s waist and slung him over one shoulder, then sprinted for the station.  A screech behind them.  Crashing.  He felt Haxus move, not trying to get away but to reach something.  A blaster went off, right in his ear.  He stumbled, then righted himself and ignored the way it made his head ring.  Not important.  Getting to the station--to safety--was important.

The crashing slowed and stopped as they approached the station, but Sendak didn’t stop until they’d crossed the threshold.  He slammed his palm down on the panel beside the door, heard it whir closed through the ringing in his ears.  His knees gave out.  He just barely managed to release his grip on Haxus to keep from dragging him down too and collapsed, sprawling on the floor.

For a few doboshes, all he could focus on was breathing.  Inhale.  Exhale.  The ringing in his ears faded.  Then he rolled over to look at Haxus.  Their eyes met.  His face was unreadable, and something coiled tight in Sendak’s chest.

And then, abruptly, Haxus burst out laughing.  His face was...bright, shining and warm, and Sendak couldn’t help laughing too.  The tension melted rapidly, the last of his fear fading.  Haxus actually _fell over_ onto his back, clutching at his ribs and wheezing, and for a tick Sendak was worried about him--and then he realized Haxus was still laughing, just silently.

Eventually, though, the laughter tapered off, and Sendak found himself sitting upright, clutching his knees.  There was blood _all_ _over_ him, coating his chest, covering his face.  He could still taste it, sour and bitter on his tongue, and he spat, trying to get rid of the flavor.  No good.  Gods, it was all in his _fur_.  Sound roared in his ears, and when he shut his eye to block it out he could still see, _blindingly bright lights and grit underfoot, a too-small body and blood and blood and_ blood--

“--dak!  Sendak, _breathe_ , it’s alright, you’re alright, just breathe.   _Sendak_ .”  Haxus’s voice.  There were hands on him _hands all over him, gripping his arms tightly enough to bruise and dragging_ \--no, the hands were on his face, and they were gentle.  Cradling him, thumbs on his cheeks, fingers cupping his jaw.  “Easy, Sendak.  You’re alright.  It’s alright.  I’ve got you.”

Sendak found his voice.  “I--I need to--the b--get it off, have to get the blood off--”  He reached up, started to rake his claws across the gore on his cheek.

Haxus grabbed his hand.  “No.  Don’t do that--hold on a tick, please, I’ll be right back, and then we’ll get you cleaned up, okay?”  Sendak didn’t respond, and Haxus squeezed his hand gently.  “Okay?”

Sendak nodded, not opening his eye.  Haxus let go of his hand and moved back.  Sendak pinned his hands between his knees.  He would _not_ claw the blood off his face.  He wouldn’t claw his face off, either.  No matter how much he needed to.

And then Haxus was back--his scent was strong in Sendak’s nostrils, pleasantly musty and earthy--and something damp dabbed at his cheek, slow strokes with the grain of his fur.  He leaned into the touch, and Haxus’s other hand cradled his opposite cheek to hold him steady.  Haxus switched sides, then ran his thumb gently across Sendak’s cheek, tracing the line of his scar.

Sendak realized, distantly, that he was purring.

Haxus let go of his face, and Sendak flinched.  “Easy, easy,” Haxus said soothingly.  “I’m going to take your armor off and open up your undersuit so I can finish cleaning you off, okay?”

“...Alright,” Sendak murmured.

Haxus’s hands stayed gentle, carefully removing his damaged chestplate and unzipping his undersuit.  They were a little rougher scrubbing at the gore caked in his ruff, but not by much.  He pulled away sooner than Sendak expected, and Sendak opened his eye.

Haxus met his gaze.  “Hello, there,” he said, smiling gently.

“...Thank you,” Sendak whispered.

“You’re welcome,” Haxus replied.  “Are you alright?”

Sendak looked away.  Guilt churned in his gut, tying his stomach in knots.  “...I’m fine.  It’s nothing.”

“If you have to say that, it means there’s _something_ wrong,” Haxus said.

Sendak didn’t look, kept quiet.  Something clicked repeatedly.  Haxus sighed, and then his hands were on Sendak’s chest, running over it and his shoulder, pressing firmly.  Sendak winced.  Haxus hummed.

And then his hands were back on Sendak’s face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones.  Sendak jumped, startled, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.  His head was beginning to feel fuzzy--not bad-fuzzy, not like he was going to pass out or shut down--pleasantly fuzzy, and something warm started up in his chest.  He was purring again, and he realized he was pressing his face into Haxus’s hands.  Haxus chuffed and pulled Sendak against him.  The clicking had to have been Haxus removing his armor, because Sendak’s face met Haxus’s chest without cold metal in the way.

His throat tightened.  One of Haxus’s hands rested between his shoulders, holding him steady.  The other cupped the back of his head, rubbing gently at the base of one of his ears.  He couldn’t remember if _anyone_ had held him like that before.

Sendak sobbed and pressed his face more firmly against Haxus’s chest, wrapped his arms around Haxus and clung to him like a lifeline.  Something deep inside him had shattered, something integral to his construction, and the only thing keeping him together was Haxus’s heartbeat in his ear and the warmth of his body.

* * *

 

If someone had told Haxus twenty vargas before that he’d be finishing the repairs on the main console with Sendak practically in his lap, he would have laughed and called them an idiot.  But that’s exactly where sunset finds him--on the floor, coated in grease, Sendak sprawling across his legs like a blanket.  A very heavy blanket that complains when Haxus moves--not _loud_ complaining, but he’s whined pathetically both times Haxus attempted to move him, so Haxus has given up.

He’s not exactly _surprised_ by it, either.  Sendak’s in a bad way.  Not physically, but whatever happened that afternoon, he clearly isn’t over it.  He’d gotten shaky and anxious if Haxus left his sight for more than a few doboshes, and while touch seems to calm him down, Haxus can’t spend _all_ of his time on Sendak.  He has a job to do, and it needs done.

And now, it _is_ done.  He closes the access door and powers the main console back up, then runs a quick diagnostic.  Everything comes back clear.  Good.  Haxus smiles and sets it back to autopilot, running transmissions.  Then he returns his attention to Sendak.

The big Galra is asleep in his lap.  The back of his head rests against Haxus’s stomach, the top of a shoulder and his knees press against the outside of Haxus’s thigh.  Sendak’s breathing is deep and even for the first time in hours, and while his face is still tense, the rest of his body has relaxed in slumber.  It would be endearing if his earlier distress hadn’t worried Haxus so much.  Clinging and whimpering is _cub_ behavior, certainly not acceptable for a soldier, and it disturbs Haxus to even think about what might have triggered the breakdown.

Part of him wants to _shoot_ the responsible parties.  The rest of him is torn between wishing Sendak would go back to ignoring him and wanting to make sure Sendak is alright.

He shifts his legs slightly--his feet are starting to go to sleep--and Sendak tenses.  Haxus freezes, but it’s too late.  Sendak jerks upright, ears flat, staring around wildly.  His gaze lands on Haxus, and his face tells everything.  Shock.  Fear.  Shame.  Haxus reaches for him, and Sendak lurches back, away from him.

“It’s alright,” Haxus says soothingly.  He pulls his hand back, watching Sendak.

Sendak’s shoulders curl in on themselves, and he looks away.  “...I apologize.  I’ve been an inconvenience,” he mutters.  “I shouldn’t have--I’ll leave you be.”

Haxus’s stomach lurches.  “You’re not an inconvenience,” he says.  Sendak doesn’t respond.  “Hey.  Sendak.  Look at me, please.”

Sendak turns his head just enough to look at Haxus out of the corner of his eye.  His ears stay lowered, though, and the tips of them have blushed bluish.  Haxus can guess why.  He sighs and restrains himself from pulling Sendak back into an embrace.  Violating his boundaries will get Haxus nowhere.

“Sendak,” he says, quietly, not sure where he’s going.

“ _Stop_ ,” Sendak hisses, and turns to face Haxus fully.  His face contorts into a snarl, ears flattening further.  “Just.  Stop.  I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, but I already know how you feel about me.  So just--just quit faking pity and go back to ignoring me like everyone else.”

It’s exactly like being punched in the gut.  “...People can change their minds, you know,” he says, trying to keep his tone mild.

“So just because you...saw that _shameful_ display, you think I’m--what, harmless?  In need of a little sympathy?”  Sendak glares.  “Think again.  I’m _exactly_ the monster they warned you about.”

And there it is.  “Would a monster have rescued me earlier?” Haxus asks.  Sendak flinches and looks away, and Haxus knows he has him.  “Somehow, I doubt it.  Sendak, you saved my life today.  That’s not something a monster would do.”

Sendak scowls.  “I saved you because it was my _job_ , not because I actually _care_.”

“And I suppose asking if I was alright and literally carrying me to safety was _also_ you not caring, hmm?”

“...It was more convenient to carry you.  You’re not very fast.”

“And the asking if I was alright?”

“...None of your business.”  Sendak hesitates.  “Why were you out there in the first place?”

“I was looking for _you_ ,” Haxus says.  Sendak hunches his shoulders further.  “You were gone for two vargas, and I was worried that something had happened to you.”

“Why, because you didn’t want to do _paperwork_?” Sendak snaps.

“That was...I’m sorry,” Haxus says.  “I was frustrated because you refused to communicate to me that you needed something, and I lashed out at you when you didn’t deserve it.  There’s no excuse for that sort of behavior, and I’m sorry.”

Shock softens Sendak’s features, breaking his aggression like a mask of clay.  His eye goes wide, his tight-clenched jaw slackens.  Has anyone _ever_ apologized to him?

Haxus would bet against it.  “I should apologize for everything else I did to you, too,” he says, a little more quietly.  “I was pointlessly cruel.  I pushed you away.  I took what other people told me about you at face value when I should have let my own experiences teach me.  I’m sorry.  For everything.”

Sendak covers his mouth with his hand and wraps the other arm around himself.  He’s trembling again, his eye fixed on Haxus.  His ears are still lowered, but not flattened aggressively.  He keens softly in the back of his throat.  That’s _Haxus’s_ breaking point.  He reaches out, then stops before he can touch Sendak.

“...May I?” he asks.

Sendak nods.  Haxus pulls him into a hug and nuzzles his cheek, runs his fingers gently through Sendak’s ruff.  Sendak begins purring again, shakily, tucking his head into the junction of Haxus’s neck and shoulder.  It’s not the desperate clinging from earlier--a relief, Sendak has a strong grip--but now that he’s got some modicum of self-possession, he’s much more awkward, like he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do when someone hugs him.

“When was the last time you had a hug?” he asks, teasing.

Sendak tenses.  “I...I don’t remember.”  A snort, like he’s trying for laughter.  “Funny, right?”

“Sendak, I’m so _sorry_ \--” Haxus starts.

And then suddenly he’s flat on his back, Sendak’s hands on either side of his head.  “Cut that _out_ ,” Sendak huffs.  “You aren’t even responsible for that.”

He’s not serious, though--there’s a smile tugging at the corner of Sendak’s mouth, and his eye glitters with humor.  Haxus grins and wraps an arm around Sendak’s chest, flips them over.  Sendak fights back, laughing, and they tussle like cubs for a few doboshes, rolling across the floor and knocking Haxus’s tools flying.  Then Sendak lets Haxus pin him, still laughing.  His whole face is bright, open, ears up and eye squeezed shut, his laugh rolling out like thunder and spring rain.  Haxus freezes and soaks it in, staring.  Joy makes Sendak beautiful.

And, void take it, Haxus likes that look on him.  He likes it a _lot_.

Oops.


End file.
